“So, tell me what’s really wrong,” Edith prodded.
“Everyone is coming back to town.”
“Define everyone.”
“Everyone who used to live here,” I said, frustrated. “Everyone who graduated and moved away. Everyone I went to high school with.”
“It’s a big reunion,” Edith said. “That’s what people do when they have a reunion.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to see the people I went to high school with,” I said. “I hate them. They hate me. I have no interest in catching up, or listening to how great their lives are. I just don’t want to do it.”
“Do you think they have better lives than you?” Edith asked pointedly.
“No.”
“Are you unhappy with your life?”
“Of course not.”
“Last time I checked, you were editor of a newspaper and had an attractive man to spend time with,” Edith said.
I hate it when Edith makes sense. Bringing my FBI agent boyfriend Landon Michaels into the mix was hitting below the belt. There was nothing to complain about where he was concerned. “I’m happy with my life,” I said. “I just … I wasn’t happy back then. I don’t want to feel like I did when I was in high school. Not again.”
Edith clucked sympathetically. “Were you unpopular?”
That was an understatement. All through elementary school I was known as the weird girl who talked to her imaginary friend. Since no one could know I was actually talking to ghosts – that’s one of my witchy abilities – I always had to hide what I did. By middle school, rumors about my family were swirling. People were both fascinated with, and terrified of, the Winchester witches. And my crotchety Aunt Tillie was only part of the fascination. It was a hard cross to bear, and instead of dealing with it head-on I opted to try to fade into the background.
Five years in an urban population after college gave me some self-confidence – more than I ever had when I hid from everything and everyone during my teenage years. I was just afraid my newfound self-assuredness would fall to the wayside the second I was with my former classmates. I was nervous, and my anxiety was giving me a stomachache … or an ulcer. I wasn’t ruling out an ulcer.
“I was definitely unpopular,” I said.
“Were you bullied?”
“What do you know about bullying?”
“It’s a hot-button topic on all of the morning shows,” Edith said, her eyes serious. “Bullies are horrible people. They’re worse than people who kick puppies.”
I wasn’t sure whether that was true, but her sentiment was heartfelt, so I graced her with a small smile. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Is Landon coming to spend the week with you?”
“He’ll be here for the weekend,” I said. “He’s trying to finish up a case today, but if he doesn’t he won’t be here until the weekend.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” Edith said. “If all those horrible wenches who were mean to you in high school saw him, they’d know how successful you are.”
“I’m successful without Landon,” I said. “He’s a bonus.”
“A handsome bonus.”
“A handsome bonus,” I conceded. Talk of Landon was making me whimsical and scattered, so I forced thoughts of him out of my mind. “We’re doing a big spread for the newspaper this week. We’re publishing a reunion edition tomorrow, and that’s already done and sent to the printer. The weekend edition is going to be double the normal size, though. It’s going to be a lot of work.”
“Do you have to do all of the work?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ll write a few articles, but we have two freelance writers and a couple of photographers working the events, too.”
“That’s good,” Edith said. “That way you’ll be able to enjoy some of the festivities.”
“Yeah, I can’t wait.”
“That sounded like sarcasm,” Edith chided. “Don’t you at least want to try to have a good time?”
“I plan on having a good time.”
“Then why are you pouting in here? They’re setting up the town square for the festival right now. Shouldn’t you be … I don’t know … covering that?”
“How is decorating the town a story?” I asked.
“You don’t know. Some people like that stuff.”
Boring people. “I think I’m safe missing it,” I said. “Besides, I have a few other things to take care of.”
“Like?”
“Like I have to … schedule things for next week.”
Edith knew I was lying. “It’s a weekly newspaper.”
“I know.”
“You usually have one article and fifteen ads.”
“I know.”
“What are you scheduling for next week?” Edith pressed.
“Um … .”
“An interview with me.”
I jolted when I heard the voice at my office door, lifting my head and focusing on Sam Cornell. His dark hair was pushed back from his face, and his smile was amiable and a little tense as he regarded me. In addition to opening a new business in Hemlock Cove, and admitting he’d first come to town as a way to get close to my family, Sam was dating my cousin, Clove. Our relationship was a work in progress. Part of me wanted to believe Sam was a good guy, mostly because Clove seemed to really like him. The other part of me couldn’t help but be suspicious of him, though.
“Sam.”
“Hello, Bay,” he said, walking into the office. “Hello, Edith.”
Edith’s eyes widened. Since Sam’s lineage ran to another line of witches, he boasted certain abilities. He wasn’t magically strong like we were, but he wasn’t bereft of magical sight. Apparently Edith had missed that newsy tidbit.
“He’s fine,” I said, trying to calm Edith. “He knows about ghosts.”
“Is he a witch, too?” Edith asked. “Is he a male witch?”
“He’s … complicated,” I said. I turned my attention to Sam. “What’s up?”
Since Sam and Clove started dating he’d been making an effort to get along with the rest of my family. Landon was still suspicious of him, and Aunt Tillie was convinced he was hiding a demonic tail in his jeans, but I couldn’t decide how I really felt about him. I didn’t trust him, but I didn’t think he was out to hurt us either. He was an enigma.
“I came to check in with you,” Sam said. “I know you’re busy this week, but the renovations on the Dandridge are done. I was hoping you would still be willing to do a story on it.”
The Dandridge was a former lighthouse that had fallen into disarray. After his initial attempt to get to know me through the newspaper, Sam opted to partner with state officials and purchase the lighthouse so he could set it up as a haunted attraction. He’d done a lot of work on the property, and Clove helped him every step of the way. Since news in Hemlock Cove is limited during a normal week, covering the refurbishment of the Dandridge would be an easy article.
“I’ll definitely do a story on it,” I said. “It shouldn’t take too long. I can come out one afternoon, you can show me around, we can get some photos, and it should be a quick afternoon.
“This week is all about the anniversary celebration,” I continued. “We can still find time to get together if you want. Like I said, it won’t take long.”
“That sounds good,” Sam said. “Just give me a call. Clove has my number.”
“I’m sure I’ll see you around,” I said. “It’s a celebration, after all. I’m sure Clove will drag you all over town.”
“She seems excited,” Sam said. “You, on the other hand, look like you’d rather cover another murder than the reunion celebration.”
That was an apt observation, which made me feel terrible. “I just don’t have the happiest memories of the people I went to high school with. It wasn’t as bad for Clove. People liked her.”
“What about Thistle?”
“Thistle really didn’t pay any attention to the kids in high school,” I said. “She didn’t care
what they did, and they left her alone because she was so … .”
“Mean?” Sam asked.
“I was going to say persnickety.”
Sam held up his hand and laughed. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“It’s fine,” I said, waving off his apology. “She was mean. She admits she was mean. It worked out well for me, though, because I was too shy to be mean.”
“You’re not shy now,” Sam said. “I wouldn’t worry about what a bunch of idiot high-schoolers thought about you a decade ago. You’re successful now. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed,” I said. “I’m just … nervous.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Sam said. “And, if it’s not, you still have Thistle to be mean to all of them if the mood strikes. And, if that doesn’t work, Aunt Tillie is always handy with a curse. I’m sure she’ll be itching to mete out some … justice.”
He was right. Well, things were looking up on that front.
Two
I left The Whistler at noon and headed toward Thistle and Clove’s magic shop, Hypnotic, with lunch on my mind. While my cousins hadn’t questioned my feelings about the upcoming reunion, I knew they were aware of my trepidation.
Clove was sympathetic to my plight. Thistle was irritated. She didn’t understand my fear, and she most certainly wouldn’t coddle me when it came down to it. In situations like this, Clove was the cousin I wanted to be around. Thistle was still the one I wanted on my side during a fight. She punches like a man, and she pulls hair like a beauty queen contestant on steroids.
Hemlock Cove is a small town, and the main drag basically consists of two streets. The newspaper and library anchor one end of town, Hypnotic and a string of kitschy stores anchor the other. Everything else is wooded land and bed and breakfasts.
When I was younger, I hated living in the middle of nowhere. As an adult, I relish it. I like the feeling of wide-open places and familiar spaces. While I’d been itching to get away from Hemlock Cove as a young adult, I can’t picture ever leaving now. Not again. This was home, and Edith was right: I am happy here.
I hopped up on the sidewalk in front of Hypnotic, my shoulders feeling lighter for the first time in days. I’d been dreading the reunion since I heard about it weeks before. As it drew closer, though, my dread grew until it was so big I couldn’t think about anything else. I knew that was counterproductive, and I was determined to rise above it.
That is until I saw … her … standing in front of Hypnotic.
I pulled up short as Lila Stevens’ green eyes met mine in the reflection of the store’s front window. She turned slowly, a wide smile on her face. She looked like a black widow, and I was certain I was the fly from which she was about to suck the juices.
“Bay Winchester,” Lila said, tilting her head to the side so her long, dark hair fell past her shoulders. “It’s been a long time. You look … interesting.”
Interesting? That had to be an insult. It was insulting, right? It was a simple statement, yet it was filled with something I couldn’t immediately identify. “Lila. You look well.”
“It’s so good to see you,” Lila said, her enthusiasm feigned and forced. “It’s just a real … joy.”
“You, too.” I didn’t bother to try to fake an emotion. Disgust isn’t easy to hide, and I didn’t have the energy to do it right now. I kept my voice flat as I regarded her.
“I’d heard that you moved down to Detroit after college,” Lila said. “I see that didn’t last.”
“I didn’t like the city,” I replied. “I like the country better. When I got the opportunity to take over The Whistler, it seemed like a natural fit. I was happy to come home.”
“Yes, I heard you’re the editor there now,” Lila said, waving her manicured hand for emphasis. “That has to be such a letdown. I mean, you got to cover actual stories in the city. What are you covering here? Festivals and advertorials. It’s so sad. You must be depressed. Are you depressed? You look depressed. That would probably explain your outfit.”
If I ever thought a decade could erase my hatred of Lila, I was mistaken. In fact, two minutes with her only served as a reminder of how awful she really was. “Actually, I’m perfectly happy at The Whistler,” I said. “While some weeks are boring, others are exciting. We’ve even had some murders over the past few months. I’ve been pretty busy.”
That was nothing to brag about, but Lila always brought out the worst in me. It was as though my mouth had a mind of its own.
“I’ve heard,” Lila said. “My mother keeps me informed on all of the Hemlock Cove gossip. She’s just beside herself with the sudden increase in violence. She’s afraid she’s going to be murdered in her bed. She’s terrified. It seems all of the recent troubles are tied to you and your family, though. You must be really upset about that.”
“It hasn’t been tied to my family,” I argued. “It hasn’t had anything to do with my family.”
“Wasn’t Clove’s father dating a woman who was smuggling children to be used as sex slaves?”
I frowned. “That’s not Uncle Warren’s fault,” I said. “He had no idea what she was doing.”
“And wasn’t there a guest at The Overlook who tried to kill all of you because he was looking for something hidden in your basement?”
“Again, that didn’t have anything to do with my family,” I said. “His grandparents hid something in our basement. We didn’t even know what was going on. We can’t control what our guests do.”
Lila ignored my explanation. “And didn’t you discover a dead body in the corn maze last year? Some people were conducting some sort of satanic ritual, and you were right in the middle of that, too.”
“We weren’t in the middle of it,” I argued. “We just … .” How was I supposed to explain our actions? It’s not as though I could tell Lila that a ghost led me to two murderers. “I think it’s better if we just agree to disagree.”
“Oh, what fun would that be?” Lila asked, her voice positively steeped in sarcasm. “I much prefer watching you squirm.”
So much for things remaining pleasant – or at least tolerable – between us. “Well, I think you’re going to be disappointed,” I said. “I have no intention of performing like a trained monkey for your enjoyment.”
“Oh, don’t be so bitter,” Lila said. “You always were a pouty mouse. You just need to suck it up. We’re adults now. There’s no reason to act like a child.”
“Then why are you acting like a teenager?”
“I’m not,” Lila said. “You’re reading far too much into our conversation. It’s like you want me to be the bad guy, so you turn me into the villain in your fantasies. It’s a little sad, really.”
Narcissist, party of one, your table is ready. “I’m not reading anything into our conversation,” I said. “Why don’t we just agree to stay away from each other during the festivities this week? I think that would be better for both of us.”
“It’s a small town, Bay,” Lila said. “Avoiding each other seems like a lot of work, and since I have a high-profile job, and this is my vacation, I have no intention of working this week.”
“Well, then I’ll do the work,” I said. “Just … stay away from me.” I pushed past her and moved toward Hypnotic. The door opened before I could enter, though, and Thistle stepped out. Her gaze was trained on Lila, and the look on her face made my heart sink. Now Lila was the prey and Thistle was the wild animal hunting her.
“Well, well, well,” Thistle said. “Why is the dogcatcher never around when there’s a mangy stray on the loose?”
Lila squared her shoulders and turned to Thistle, smirking when she caught sight of her bright pink hair. “I … well … I see some things never change. Your hair is … there are no words.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is awesome,” Thistle said. “You probably don’t know what that means, because every time you look at your reflection you think you’re looking into a funhouse mirror, bu
t this is what awesome looks like.”
“Still nasty, I see,” Lila said, brushing some invisible lint from the front of her peasant blouse. “You should try to grow up, Thistle. The only thing that belongs in a funhouse is your hair, well, and your entire family.”
“I’ll tell Aunt Tillie you said so,” Thistle said, bristling. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear you’re back in town.”
Lila’s face drained of color. Aunt Tillie’s reputation was well earned, especially where Lila was concerned. Every time she tortured me as a child, and especially as a teenager, something awful happened to her. A few times, it was random karma. Most of the time, though, it was Aunt Tillie, seeking revenge. She hadn’t been overly fond of us as teenagers – mostly because we kept stealing pot and wine from her secret stash – but she was loyal to a fault. It was one thing for her to mess with us. It was quite another for someone else to do the same.
“And how is your Aunt Tillie?” Lila asked. “Mother says she should be locked up in a home because she’s senile. Apparently she’s really slipping. That must be horrible for you to deal with.”
I made a face. “There’s nothing wrong with Aunt Tillie.”
Thistle cleared her throat.
“There’s nothing more wrong with Aunt Tillie than normal,” I clarified. “She certainly isn’t senile.”
“Mother says she poisoned all of the women at the senior center several years ago because she thought they were cheating at cards,” Lila pressed.
“Your mother says a lot,” Thistle said, refusing to refute the argument. Aunt Tillie maintained she’d been falsely accused in the great Senior Center Poisoning of 2009, but we all had our doubts. I wasn’t living in Hemlock Cove at the time, so I couldn’t comment. “I’ll make sure Aunt Tillie knows your family has been maligning her. I’m sure that will make her … happy.”
Lila arched an eyebrow. “Happy?”
“She loves it when she has someone to focus on,” Thistle said.
The truth was we loved it, too. That meant that she wasn’t focusing her evil attention on us. Lila’s return to Hemlock Cove might actually be good news for us on that front.
Witch Me Luck (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 6) Page 2